


Out of Service

by avalonjoan



Series: Samwell Emergency Medical Corps, or, The Author Reminisces About Her College Experience [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Medical, College Ambulance Service AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Sickfic, mention of overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19030936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: It's three AM in the Samwell Emergency Medical Corps office, Kent's sick, and it's the two year anniversary of Jack's overdose.  Needless to say, he's not having a great night, but fortunately for him, the supervisor on call takes his role seriously.(a continuation/flashback for my longer college EMS AU, Second Watch of the Night)(accidental chapter two, with more gentle touching and caretaking)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, one of my former Corps members wrote fanfiction about my real-life college EMS group, and I got all nostalgic, and here you have it--more of my check please college EMS AU. I think it makes sense without having read Second Watch of the Night, but then again, I lived this life and I'm not sure it ever makes sense to other people.

Brad was entering the patient’s demographic information into the tracking software when the tertiary crew member tapped his shoulder. “Um,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the office futon, “He fell asleep?”

He looked at the crew chief, and sure enough, Kent was out cold, reflective uniform jacket pulled tightly around him. From the look of it, he must have fallen asleep mid-sentence while dictating the report.  Kent had seemed a little off earlier, but nobody was at their best during a middle-of-the-night call. Brad himself had been up late finishing a bio lab report and really could have done without the hour-plus-long interruption in his sleep.

Keeping his voice low, Brad gestured for the tertiary member to hand him the clipboard with the report. “Why don’t you head home,” he said, “I’ll finish this up.” The uneasy-looking junior crewmember nodded and gathered her jump kit before leaving the office.  The tertiary had met Kent barely sixteen hours ago, and Brad wanted to allow him some degree of dignity when he woke up. 

With the door closed, Brad rolled the desk chair over to Kent and gently jostled his knee. “Hey,” he said, “Time to wake up.” The other man woke with a gasp, eyes wide. Brad kept his hand on Kent’s thigh, his touch light. “It’s okay.”

“What happened?” Kent mumbled, relaxing back onto the cushion.

“You fell asleep during write-up.” The longer his hand rested on Kent’s leg, the more he noticed the heat radiating off his crewmate.  He reached up and pressed his palm to Kent’s forehead. “You’re really warm.”

“‘m okay.” Kent closed his eyes.

Spinning around in the chair, Brad reached for the fancy temporal thermometer that the Corps had bought but never actually trained people on how to use.  He ran the plastic sensor over Kent’s forehead and touched it behind his ear. “Temp of 101.”

“Oh.” As if on cue, Kent tugged his jacket closer around himself and muffled a cough against his sleeve.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Brad urged, setting the thermometer on the desk.  

Kent shook his head, sitting forward and pushing his hands on the futon as if to stand.  “I’m just gonna go home.”

Brad put a hand on Kent’s shoulder, forcing him back down, surprised at how easily Kent gave in. “I don’t think you should be driving.”

An annoyed expression on his face, Kent sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t even be on duty with a fever,” Brad went on. He lifted the hem of Kent’s shirt and unclipped his pager and radio from his belt. “You can either let me drive you home, or you can sleep here.”

Kent seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he answered, voice soft, “I’ll stay here.”

Brad nodded. “Okay. Let me flatten out the futon so we can both fit.” Kent raised an eyebrow at him. “You look like shit, and honestly, I don’t trust you not to drive back to Ravenwood as soon as I leave.”

With a just a hint of his usual sparkling personality, Kent smirked and moved to the desk chair. While Brad readied the futon, Kent rested his head in his hands, elbows on the desk.  Brad unfolded the commemorative blanket from the Corps’ 25th anniversary gala and draped it over his arm. 

“Hey,” he said softly, touching Kent’s shoulder, “Bed’s ready.” He watched Kent carefully as the other walked the few paces to the futon, worried that he might actually fall from how weak he looked. It was a wonder he’d made it through their call earlier.  Before Kent could lie down, Brad took a bottle of Tylenol out of the desk drawer and a plastic water bottle from the case on the floor. “Here,” he said, handing his crewmate two tablets and the uncapped bottle, “One gram.”

Nodding, Kent swallowed the pills with a swig of water, then shrugged off his jacket and lay down.  For the first time that night, Brad looked at Kent--really looked at him. There were dark circles under his eyes. Kent’s uniform polo hung loosely on him, and Brad could see the hollow of his clavicle on one side.  All that plus the flush of fever made him look so...small. Pitiable. He certainly wasn’t sleeping or eating enough--if he was doing either of those at all.

Brad pulled the blanket over him and walked around to the other side of the futon.  He set an alarm for the morning, made sure his pager was on the loud setting, shut off the room lights, and lay down, facing Kent’s back. 

The room was silent but not particularly dark, the light from the street lamp outside the station filtering through the blinds, and he could clearly see the outline of Kent’s body trembling, his shoulders shaking. It could just be chills from the fever, but—

“You can talk to me if you want to,” Brad offered, voice just above a whisper. “Not just as your supervisor but like, as a friend.  If there’s anything else going on.”

He waited for a response, but none came.  He figured that Kent had fallen back to sleep, and was about to close his own eyes when he heard Kent speak. “This time of year is just...hard for me.”

“Why?”

There was another moment of silence. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course.”  

Kent’s shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath. “Two years ago, we got called for an overdose.  I don’t know if you would have know about it--you were either a new crew chief, or just about to be.”

Brad had heard about this call.  A freshman had taken a bunch of pills. Rebekah, the supervisor on the call for it, had rescheduled Brad’s primary drill because she was (understandably) so upset afterward. But he didn’t become a crew chief for another two weeks, and by then, no one was talking about it. “I remember hearing about it.”

“I was on that call,” Kent went on. “He was my—” his voice broke, and after a few seconds of silence, said, “--he was my roommate. My boyfriend.”

“Holy shit,” Brad exhaled.  He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Kent had made him promise not to tell--was that for the patient’s confidentiality, or for his own?

“He survived.” Kent rolled over to face Brad. “Rebekah and I talked about it a lot, but she’s in med school now and I--” Kent’s voice changed, and he reached up to press the heel of his hand against one eye, then the other. “And he and I don’t talk anymore. Or--he doesn’t talk to me.”

Brad didn’t know what to say.  He reached out and gingerly touched Kent’s shoulder.

“This time of year, I just--I can’t get his face out of my head.  The way he looked. He wasn’t breathing.” Kent choked out a sob, bringing his knees up toward his chest. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Brad started rubbing Kent’s upper arm, hoping it was even a little comforting. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” 

Kent ducked his head away from Brad and coughed. When his breathing returned to normal, he groaned, looking at Brad with exhausted, pleading eyes. “I can’t sleep and I’m nauseated all the time.” 

“No wonder you’re sick,” Brad commented. He kept his hand on Kent’s arm, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry--about all this.”

Kent sniffled. “Thanks.”

“If you want, I can walk you over to Carlson in the morning and see about finding someone for you to talk to,” he said, unsure how the offer would be received. “They’ve got someone who’s good with stuff like this. PTSD kind of stuff. She’s worked with SEMCo members before.”

He saw Kent nod. “Okay.”

“Good.” Hesitating, he brought his hand back to Kent’s forehead, pushing the hair off his damp skin. “Why don’t you try to sleep, okay?” Kent nodded. “Wake me up if you need anything.”

It looked like Kent relaxed a little, stretching back out and tugging the blanket over his shoulders. “Thanks for all this.  For listening.”

Brad nodded. “Anytime.” 

It wasn’t until Kent’s breathing evened out that Brad finally relaxed. When he’d been made supervisor at the start of the school year, he’d known that it came with interpersonal as well as clinical duties, but he’d never dealt with something like this. Kent was what, twenty-one? He deserved better than this--febrile, crying next to a coworker in the middle of the night. Part of this was just the nature of the beast: the late nights, the calls that never really left you, but this? They were all too young.  Sure, they played dress-up with their uniforms and radios and flashing lights, but at the end of the day, they were kids. Their patients were kids. 

At some point during the night, Kent shifted so that his back was pressed up against Brad’s chest. Partly for his own physical comfort and partly because Kent looked like he’d needed a hug the whole night, Brad put his arm around Kent, his heart beating quickly below Brad’s fingertips.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoops! here's a follow-up chapter from Kent's POV. I just love boys being soft with each other.

Kent woke up with only a vague memory of getting a refusal on an ankle injury and Brad covering him with a blanket. His back hurt from the uneven cushion of the futon, but he felt marginally better than he had the night before.  Rolling over, he saw Brad working on the office computer. 

Brad took off his headphones and smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Kent rubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine. How are you feeling?”

Kent swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching upwards. “Better. I think the fever’s gone. Thanks for—” he hesitated, unsure of what to call it.

Brad waved it away. “Anytime, man.” He turned to face Kent. “I don’t know if you remember, but are you still interested in setting something up at Carlson? I can drive you home after.”

Truth be told, Kent was exhausted by the idea of doing a mental health intake visit, but he knew that he had to.  Two years was too long. He nodded. “Okay.” He gestured to the radio on the desk. “I can take call again, you know.”

“Nope!” Brad said, standing and snatching the radio in his hand. “You’re officially relieved of duty until I say so.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Kent squinted at Brad.

Brad shrugged. “I’m the operations officer, so I can pretty much do what I want.”

Kent let out a breath of laughter. “Alright.” He stood, reached for the crew chief backpack, and stopped himself.  Brad picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. The two of them moved the futon back into a couch position and left the office.

The Carlson Mental Health Center was attached to the main health center and police station through an internal staircase, so it was only a minute or two until they reached the reception area.  Brad led Kent to the reception room and gave the name of the provider he had in mind before stepping out, telling Kent that he’d be back in twenty or so minutes. Kent, still a bit out of it from his disturbed sleep the night before, nodded and watched him go.

It was early enough in the day that the walk-in sessions were still open, so the social worke brought him back almost immediately.  He’d been through this before, in high school when his parents were divorcing and he was getting ready to go to college. Medical history, behavioral health history, family situation, school situation, work situation, drug and alcohol use, any thoughts of suicide, what brings you in today. Jack. Always Jack.  

She scheduled him for a recurring visit time on Monday mornings, and he entered it into his phone calendar with tired, deliberate keystrokes.

Back in the waiting room, as promised, Brad was standing by the wall, flipping through one of the pamphlets on depression. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Kent nodded. “I’m gonna see her on Monday.”

“That’s great.” Brad smiled and put his hand on Kent’s back, and Kent smiled too.  Brad didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be so physical. All this contact--the hand on his forehead last night, the arm around him, and this--it was unexpected, to say the least, but it was nice. “Home?”

“Sounds good.” Kent followed Brad out the main door to the response vehicle.  

Brad got into the driver’s seat and quickly moved his backpack and two paper takeout containers from the dining hall off the seat. “I got you something to eat,” he explained, handing the containers back to Kent when he sat down. 

“You really don’t have to do all this.”

Brad shrugged, turning toward Kent. “I can stop if you want, but it’s really no trouble. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.” He paused. “I don’t think you realize how awful you looked last night.”

“I felt pretty awful.”

“Exactly.” Brad put the truck in drive and started around the campus circumference road. They rode in silence, Kent resting his head against the window, until they reached the Ravenwood quad and Kent directed Brad to his building. 

Kent’s roommates were either in their own rooms or at class, so the common area was deserted. Taking a seat at the table, Brad opened the takeout containers while Kent got utensils.  Brad had gotten what looked like a bit of everything from the breakfast selection: an omelette, a Belgian waffle, some bacon, a scoop of scrambled eggs, some breakfast potatoes. He must have noticed the surprise on Kent’s face, and gave an apologetic smile, blushing a little.

It took a few forced bites of a syrup-drenched waffle before his stomach settled, and it felt good to have something in his system.  Now that he thought of it, Kent hadn’t eaten anything in almost a day. He’d picked at a muffin with his coffee around noon yesterday. Brad had been right--Kent had no business being on duty like this.  Shame washed over him. He’d put himself, his crew, his patients in danger.

He and Brad ate together, with Brad always nudging the last bite of something toward Kent. It would have been overbearing if Kent hadn’t seen how worried Brad looked last night. “Thank you,” Kent said when they were finished.  It felt like he was thanking Brad for everything that morning. “What’re your plans for the rest of the day?”

Brad shrugged. “I already submitted my bio lab report, so I’m good.  You?”

“I don’t have Friday classes, so, same.” Kent glanced at his watch. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, and probably nap for a while after that.”

“I’ll head out, then.” Brad looked Kent up and down. “Take care of yourself, alright?”  Brad turned toward the door, but before he could take a step, Kent reached out and touched his shoulder. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked softly.

Sighing, Brad turned around.  He stood by the common room couch, leaning against the back.  He bit his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment before speaking. “I worked for a small town fire department during my gap year.  One of my first calls was for a pediatric code. Drowning.” He looked down. “He didn’t make it.”

“My god,” Kent breathed.

“When we got back to the station, obviously, everyone was pretty upset, but these were all older guys who’d been through this sort of thing before. But my captain pulled me into the bunk room, closed the door, and asked me how I was doing. And I just...broke down.  I think I cried for an hour. He told me about the call that really fucked him up when he was new. He looked out for me for the rest of that year.” Brad ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit as he reached the ends. “I probably wouldn’t have stayed in EMS if he hadn’t been there.”

Kent nodded solemnly.  Without saying anything, he stepped forward and pulled Brad into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

There was warm breath on his neck as Brad spoke. “You never really get over it, but it does get easier.” Leaning back, Brad reached over and ran the back of his fingers down Kent’s cheek. “You’re warm again,” he commented. “Go rest.  I’ll text you later, okay?”

Knowing full well that the heat wasn’t from a fever this time, Kent nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Brad picked up the crew chief backpack and left the suite.  

Kent fell back into one of the chairs, staring down at his lap. After a minute, he shook his head as if to clear it and stood, walking to the bathroom.  He stripped off his duty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor, and let the hot water run over him, absently pressing his hand to the place where Brad’s fingers had grazed his skin.


End file.
